Tabula Rasa
by Mulligrubs
Summary: Summary pending. Eames gets more than he bargained for out of a game of poker.


**I don't own Inception, or any of its characters.**

* * *

Eames had once killed a man with a fork.

It was his first, though if anyone asked, he always lied and said it was that asshole he'd taken out in Spain a few years ago. He wasn't entirely sure why, but put it down to embarrassment. After all, who killed someone with a fork?

Afterward, when he'd wiped his bloodied hands on his pants and tugged the silverware from the poor bastard's throat, he was surprised. Not that he could kill a man, but by how unaffected he was.

Eames prided himself in staying calm under stress. Nonetheless, as he felt a bead of sweat trickle down his neck and slip under his loosened collar, he fought the urge to squirm; the monster sitting across the table would just take it as a sign of weakness. Havana was an oven this time of year. The man had Eames by the short and curlies, but wasn't even breaking a sweat.

"You seem very relaxed, Mr. Eames," he said, "for a man who is about to lose everything."

"Mate," Eames said, leaning back in his chair so it balanced on two legs. "If I'd wanted to chat I would have stuck around for cuddles with the hot little thing I _did_ last night. Back to business, Doyle."

"…I suppose you want a way out of this," Doyle said. "But you've got nothing left to bargain with."

"There's always something," Eames said, interlacing his fingers behind his head, "I'm sure there must be _something_ I have that you want…"

"So you are desperate... You know you're not my type, Eames," Doyle said with a smirk, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Wanker," Eames said. "You know that's not what I meant."

Eames knew Doyle's type; too young. Doyle had a kind face which inspired trust and was charming besides; assets in his line of work. And his line of pleasure. Eames wondered what Doyle did with the bodies.

"There is one thing…"Doyle said, still smirking. Eames wondered if this had been what Doyle had wanted all along, waiting until Eames was hopeless enough to agree to anything. Bastard.

"_One_ thing? As a man with _many_ not inconsiderable talents, I should be insulted," Eames said, wishing he had a gun. Or perhaps a nice salad fork.

"Cobb," Doyle said.

"No," Eames brought his chair back to rest on all four legs with a thump. "I'm not going help you settle whatever rivalry you think you have with Cobb. That's-"

"Let me finish," Doyle said, holding up a hand. "I don't give a rat's ass about Cobb. We are in the same business, yes, but we run in slightly different circles."

"I don't understand," Eames said.

"I have recently found myself…indebted to someone," Doyle said. "I can't take care of him by conventional means…but he is very interested in meeting Dominic Cobb. Just one meeting, surely something you can arrange?"

Eames considered his position, flicking his tongue over his dry lips.

"Deal the damn cards, Doyle," Eames said.

* * *

Eames lost. Badly. In retrospect, he decided it was a bad idea to agree to poker games with his business associates. Eames stood as Doyle collected the chips off the tables.

"I will have my man contact you in the morning," Doyle said. "Arrange a meeting with Cobb and we'll call it even."

Eames eyed the pile of chips.

"Better than even," Doyle said. Eames felt something small strike his chest and heard a muffled 'thunk' as is fell to the carpet. He was pleased when he managed to suppress the flinch, raising an eyebrow at Doyle instead.

"Take it, I insist" Doyle said, gesturing to the floor. "A reminder of my good faith…I don't think I have to threaten you. You know damn well what I'll do to you if you fail to follow through on our deal."

Eames stooped down and picked up the red poker chip and slipped it into his pocket.

Its hard outline against his leg served as an unwelcome reminder later that evening as a warm body ground against his lap. He may have lost at poker, but Eames still had game. It really was a good show, and he wasn't distracted for long. They fucked like animals and afterward, Eames collapsed back into the cheap hotel mattress, sated, exhausted and alone. Tommorow, he decided as he rolled the poker chip between his hands, was going to suck.


End file.
